


The Colour of Crystal

by RhineGold



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Dubious Consent, F/M, Femdom, Sex Magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-15
Updated: 2013-01-15
Packaged: 2017-11-25 15:23:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/640277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RhineGold/pseuds/RhineGold
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The wandering apprentice returns, largely changed and more powerful than before. The dynamic is broken, and, if she has her way, soon it will not be the only thing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Colour of Crystal

**Author's Note:**

> Part of a larger work I have in my head. Coming to light now as I wildly entertain the hopes that the show will give me things I've wanted all along (spoilers: it won't).

Things were not supposed to have worked out this way. 

The intention, such as it was, had been to create an apprentice. A woman, this time, since previous experiments with males had proven that the need for all-encompassing, immediate power often overshadowed any long-term goals. But even now, things were not going according to plan. 

~*~

She was different now. It had been months since he'd seen her last. She'd been reading, been experimenting, and had determined to go on a journey, alone. He didn't know where she'd gone, what she'd seen or done. There was something in her magic now that felt, tasted different than that which she had been given. The sweet-scented, indigo curls of magic had deepened, darkened. Now something smelled of pepper and ashes when she crackled through his rooms.

He let her in, because she was his apprentice, because she was his friend. And he was lonely. Always lonely. 

And now that the pleasantries had been discarded, the evening spent into a dwindling fire and the remnants of wine in goblets, it occurred to him that she might have come for more than just the sharing of magic, for the pleasure of his conversation.

The giggle that tore its way free of his throat was part amusement, part desperation. She had said so very little this evening, and that unnerved him into saying too much. 

She'd been a girl when she'd first come to him - thin, narrow, pinched and reedy with hunger, with want, with needs. He'd given her magic, given her power, and cultivated a sort of bitterness that had needed less efforts than he'd hoped. Now she was a woman, still cold, still angled, but in a honed, crafted way. She was beautiful, but there was something about her that slithered, something that felt too cruel for any endearment beyond that of a protegee. 

But what a prodigy. 

She used magic in ways he had never considered, feeling out the very ends of spells, nestling herself in crooks and crannies. She was invasive, persistent, dominating. Her magic often lacked his characteristic flourish, relying instead on a bruising insistence that tore down opposition.

She was watching him now, eyes like glass in the firelight, and he laughed again, pirouetting towards the bookcases, plucking a volume at random. 

"Rumpelstiltskin..." There was always such a curious, uncharacteristic warmth in her voice when she spoke his name. Most people stumbled, some people tripped, but she made it sound like a murmur of pure appreciation. Her voice seemed lower now, husky with smoke and pepper and promises he had never even considered requesting, "...Come here."

She beckoned him, the sharp, spidery curve of her hand less enticing than it was an imperative, and he felt disjointed and disoriented as he slowly closed the gap between them. 

When he had come within arms length of the sofa, he stopped, taking in the image of her - regal and serene, elevating his more humble furniture to that of a throne. And her hand closed over his wrist. He felt the strength of her, the magic in her cells and the scar marring the whorl of her thumb as she stroked the softer insides of his wrist, just before she yanked down hard. 

There was no magic other than his own startled burst, invisible, but certainly not unnoticeable, but she was drawing him down with an iron strength, turning him with a hand on his hip as the one on his wrist bore down, down, insistent. 

He dropped hard into her lap, another shrill chortle snapping out of him as he wondered wildly if his weight had hurt her, and then the sound died in an intake of air as her palm settled, flat and cold, on his thigh. 

She had always inclined to a lower body temperature, but suddenly, with the heat of his own body bleeding through the thin leather of his pants into her icy palm, he realized what must have happened, what she must have done. "You didn't..." He gasped out, and the chuckle on his throat made him freeze.

"Shh," She admonished, and there was magic between them now, curling around him, beneath his arms, tracing the bones there, sliding around his hips and between them. Her palm shifted, leaving a line of sensitized flesh inside his thigh and further. 

He whimpered then, hips canting up automatically, legs trembling as they splayed to either side of hers. "Cora..." The ghost of what had been his voice shuddered into the air. Her tongue traced the shell of his ear and the lacing of his pants felt too loose. He could see his breath. She only laughed.

Across the room, the fire went out, smoke rising from the grate.


End file.
